


Anything But Graceful

by TheSilverViolin



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe-Rental Store, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:23:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2038845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSilverViolin/pseuds/TheSilverViolin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After two months of the same person not returning the movie he wanted to rent to the video store, Crowley had decided that he was going to take matters into his own hands and go and get the movie back himself. At that point, Crowley had no idea where, and more importantly who, his simple mission would lead him to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anything But Graceful

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story came from a list on tumblr, which I can no longer find, of AU ideas. The prompt was something along the lines of "Two people meet when one never returns a movie to the rental store and the other person goes to get it back." I hope you all enjoy reading it!

Crowley had decided that this was karma. His acts in the past of glueing coins to sidewalks and rearranging the letters on wayside pulpits had caused God to punish him. Well maybe not God, but some otherworldly force that had decided Crowley was going to get his comeuppance.

For the past two months, every single time he tried to rent Goldfinger from the rental store the same person had it checked out. Crowley knew it was a good James Bond movie, but there was no way someone could still be watching it two months later. There was a limit on how much Sean Connery someone could take.

The worst was that the employee's of the store refused to tell him who was renting the movie. Apparently it was an issue of 'safety and confidentiality' which honestly was ridiculous. Crowley wasn't planning on murdering whoever still had the video, he just wanted to watch Goldfinger. Eventually, Crowley resorted to extreme tactics. After attempts of bribery, hacking and a elaborate attempt to get hired at the rental store, Crowley finally managed to get the address. 

Now he was stood outside a stranger's flat about to demand that they give him a movie they've been hoarding for two months. Crowley had the sudden thought to go home, rent a different movie, take his anger out on his plants or just anything else besides what he was about to do.

He knocked anyway.

He waited, twiddling his thumbs and rocking on his heels as the sound of hollow silence emanated from the flat. Maybe they were dead, Crowley thought when not even a slight scuffle was heard. Maybe the reason they never returned the video was that they had died of a heart attack or something. Images entered Crowley's mind of some stranger lying dead on their floor, slowly rotting away as the outside world continued on without them. Crowley grimaced and knocked again.

Another thought occurred to Crowley even worse than the other; What if the stranger was dying inside their flat right then and there as Crowley stood outside. They could literally be just feet away from Crowley at that moment about to die. 

In the past some people, including his boss, his coworkers, his classmates and a street performer among others, had described Crowley as evil. The fact of the matter was he was most certainly not evil. Yes, Crowley was mischievous at times and did love to cause havoc, but he definitely couldn't accurately be described as downright, punch your grandmother in the face, spit on the homeless, kick a puppy, evil.

Crowley would later try convincing himself he did what he did because if the person died, he wouldn't get to watch Goldfinger. On some occasions he got close to disillusioning himself that he did it because even if the person wasn't dying, then at least they would have to clean up an awful mess. So with his thought's focused on James Bond and adrenaline rushing through his veins with no escape, Crowley did the one thing he could think of.

He tried to kick down the door.

Whether or not he would have actually succeeded in kicking down the door would forever remain a mystery. At the very moment Crowley brought his leg forward to kick the door, it opened. Crowley's foot was already flying forward when his eyes widened in realization that the person was answering the door and he couldn't stop his foot connecting with the stranger's stomach. 

If that had been all that he had done, Crowley would have been okay. Well okay might have been stretching it. He still would have laid awake some nights cringing and trying to rub the memories out of his eyes with the palms of his hands. However as fate would have it, Crowley's punishment wasn't done. So once Crowley was finished kicking the stranger, the forward momentum caused him to fall and crash into them. It wasn't a graceful fall either. The fall could never be described as 'sauntering downwards' or some equally elegant string of words. Crowley tripped onto the unsuspecting stranger in a tumble of flailing limbs and profanities. Honestly, if anybody else but Crowley was in this situation, he might've found it funny.

All of this happened in the span of five seconds and culminated in Crowley lying on top of the stranger. 

Crowley immediately rolled off the man and looked over to make sure he hadn't accidentally killed the person he had been trying to save. The first thing Crowley noticed was that he hadn't killed them. Good start. The second thing Crowley noticed was that the man was really cute. 

The entire time Crowley had been planning his mission to go and retrieve the movie, he had been picturing some slob, possibly a really old person or a bratty teen. The possibility that the person who had taken Goldfinger hostage was cute and about Crowley's own age had never really occurred to him. It was a shame that their meeting wasn't something normal like bumping into each other in a coffee shop and instead involved a kick to the stomach and a full on tackle.

Crowley got no more time to contemplate how awful his day was going as the stranger scrambled up off the floor and began to run. As the man sprinted further into the flat, Crowley could hear him shout, “I am calling the police!” Over and over again.

That got Crowley off the floor. “Wait! Wait! This is a misunderstanding!” He yelled after the man. “I didn't mean to kick you! I was trying to break down the door!” Only once Crowley shouted this into the general area the stranger had hidden away in, did he realize how terrible that sounded.

“Is that supposed to make me not call the police?!” The man yelled from somewhere within the flat.

Standing in a stranger’s living room with the police almost certainly driving there at that very moment, Crowley really wished he had just tried renting Dr. No instead. “Look,” Crowley began, not daring venture any further into the flat out of fear of the man attacking him. “I thought you might be dying when you didn't open the door. I was going to save you.”

Crowley didn't hear anything for a moment, although he wouldn't have been terribly surprised if the wail of sirens closing in had sounded. Then he heard the soft noise of a door creaking open and someone slowly padding across the floor. Watching the hallway, Crowley saw as a head peaked out from behind one of the walls like a turtle venturing out of it's shell. “I could have been out you know?” The man asked warily.

“Yeah . . .” Crowley said sheepishly while he rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Someone not answering the door certainly doesn’t mean that they are dying.” The man continued on cooly.

Crowley felt his face flush. “I realize that now.” Both were silent, Crowley standing awkwardly among what appeared to be a dragon's hoard of books and the man still peaking around the corner of the hall. 

“So, if you don't mind me asking,” The man asked in possibly the most passive-aggressive manner Crowley had ever heard. “Why are you here?”

It took Crowley a moment to remember what set him off on this awful mission. “Oh right!” Crowley exclaimed, previous embarrassment forgotten. He took a step forward, pointing a finger at the man accusingly. “Two months ago, you rented Goldfinger. Apparently you came to the conclusion that your needs were more important than everyone else's and decided you were never going to return arguably the best James Bond movie.” Crowley crossed his arms and stared at the man through the tint of his shades. “So I'm here to get it back.”

The man was quiet. Crowley couldn't tell if the lack of talking was due the man stalling for the police or was actually speechless at the lengths he would go to just to get a movie. 

“I don't have it.” The man finally replied monotone, looking like he was in the general area of vaguely annoyed and wasn't planning on vacating the region any time shortly.

Incredulous for a moment, Crowley didn't really know what to say. “What do you mean you don't have it?”

“I mean,” The man explained as he stepped out from behind the wall. “I have never seen that movie before. I barely remember the last time I watched a movie, let alone went to the video store.”

“No, but . . . But the store said that the person who rented it lives here . . . You must have it!” Crowley was honestly considering marking this day as the worst day of his life. He was going to go to jail over a movie this man didn't even have.

“Well I'm sorry to disappoint, but they must have gotten it wrong. I don't have it.” By then, the man had made his way out of the hallway and was just standing in the living room with Crowley. “I'm Aziraphale by the way.” He said, holding out his hand. “I suppose since you've already attacked me and are in my flat, you should at least know my name.” 

Crowley eyed the offered hand warily. Something about the way Aziraphale said it made the handshake seem more like he was giving Crowley the finger than offering his hand. “Your parents give all the normal names to your siblings, then?” He teased, knowing that making fun of someone's name who he had just basically assaulted was a bad idea. He just couldn't help himself.

Aziraphale huffed and withdrew his hand. “Oh I'm sorry, and what's your name then?”

Crowley stopped smirking. His ability to think that plan through was poor at best. “Well . . .” He looked at the floor and scuffed his shoes. When he glanced up, Aziraphale was smiling at him. It was the smile of someone who knew they had won. “Crowley.” He finally replied. Crowley knew he could have told Aziraphale his first name if he had wanted to avoid the certain ridicule that came with having such an odd name. However, whenever he told people his name was Anthony, they always insisted that they call him Tony. It would be a cold day in hell before he allowed someone to call him Tony.

“Well then Crowley,” Aziraphale said, walking over to a small kitchen. “I suppose I should offer you something to drink, shouldn't I?”

At that point, Crowley wasn't even quite sure if he was dreaming or not. He had kicked Aziraphale in the stomach, tackled him, the police were coming to arrest him and Aziraphale didn't even have the movie. The way things had been going, the next logical step would have been for Aziraphale to pepper-spray him in the face. However now Crowley was being asked if he wanted refreshments from someone he just met. Nothing really made sense. 

“Aren't the police coming, though?” Crowley asked as Aziraphale put on the kettle.

Turning to Crowley and shrugging, Aziraphale gave him a knowing smile. “I didn't actually call the police.”

Sitting down at the counter, Crowley leaned back and glanced around the flat. “Not that I'm not glad that the police aren't coming, but wouldn't it have been smarter to actually call them?”

Rummaging around in a drawer, Aziraphale called back over his shoulder. “Getting the police involved is always so messy. I was honestly hoping I could just scare you away without having to resort to it. Besides,” He added, continuing to get out ingredients. “My neighbors aren't particularly fond of me as it is and I know if the police showed up at my flat, I would never hear the end of it.”

Goldfinger completely forgotten, Crowley was suddenly intrigued by the man in tartan who he had just met. “Why don't they like you?” Crowley asked in an attempt to keep the conversation going. He couldn't really see a reason why someone would hate Aziraphale. However, Crowley thought, he had just met the man and for all he knew Aziraphale had the tendency to blast rock music at all hours of the night and stole the neighbor's papers.

“Oh, well one man, his name's Shadwell, thinks I'm a demon sent to earth to damn him to hell.” Aziraphale explained this fact the same way someone would explain that their closet door squeaked or that the shower ran out of hot water sometimes; Just a fact of life he had learned to accept. For some reason, this made Crowley laugh. Not a nice quiet chuckle either, this was a full on, can't breathe, clutching sides, laugh.

“It's not that funny, Crowley.” Aziraphale said trying to look serious.. “Every time that I go to get my mail, he tries to send me back to hell. You cannot believe how irritating it gets.”

Crowley's laughter had dissolved into the silent laughter that beat against the ribs like a sledge hammer. “W-why . . .” Crowley wheezed. “Why does he think you're a demon?” He finally manged to squeeze out once his laughter had settled down a bit.

“He knocked on my door once and I was burning some incense and my candles were arranged in a 'satanic way'.” Aziraphale explained, using air quotes and everything. “He then dutifully informed me that only demons do such things and that I should return to hell at once.” Aziraphale poured some of the steaming water from the kettle into a cup. “I tried to explain to him that-” He paused for a moment. “I'm sorry but you never answered if you wanted anything to drink, I'm making cocoa if you want some?” Shaking his head, Crowley urged Aziraphale to continue with the story. Once he broke through Aziraphale's shell, he was actually quite nice company. He felt like he had known Aziraphale for years, like they were old friends catching up on old times. In just that short amount of time with the other man, Crowley felt completely at ease. It was odd.

“So, as I was saying, I tried telling Shadwell that I was only burning incense as it helps calm me down because my cousin was coming to visit and he is just-” Crowley barely registered that the other man had paused until he heard Aziraphale shout. “Wait!”

Crowley jumped back slightly at Aziraphale's sudden outburst. He tired looking around for a bug or a nuclear explosion or something. “Um, is something wrong?” However Aziraphale didn't answer as he rushed from the kitchen into the living room. Swiveling around in his chair, Crowley stared as Aziraphale rummaged through a cabinet underneath the television. 

Things further progressed into the territory of the weird when Aziraphale began to mumble to himself. “Oh please . . . Come on- No not that button! The other one!” Just as Crowley was thinking that then may be a good time to sneak out the front door while he could, a cry of triumph sounded from the living room. Coming back to the kitchen with pride on his face like a soldier returning from war, Aziraphale held up at VCR tape in victory.

“Is that . . . Goldfinger?” Crowley asked cautiously. After two months of desperately trying to get the movie, Crowley had been beginning to doubt he would ever see it. 

Nodding excitedly, Aziraphale made his way over to Crowley. “I feel rather foolish for not remembering before, but two months ago my cousin Gabriel came to stay with me and Gabriel is just . . . Well awful. He's rude and provokes me on purpose. The only reason I put up with him at all is that is was my New Years resolution to be nice to him, but that's not the point, now is it?” Aziraphale stopped his rambling and handed Crowley the VHS tape. “I remembered how much he loves these movies and I realized that he must have rented it and then left it in the machine.”

Crowley looked down at the movie, then back up at Aziraphale. He knew what was supposed to happen next. He was supposed to thank Aziraphale for the movie. He was supposed to politely show himself out. He was supposed to leave Aziraphale in his memories as just a character in a funny story he could tell others. 

Crowley rarely did what he was supposed to do.

“Do you want to watch this with me?” He blurted out, ignoring everything he's ever been told about strangers and social convention.

Aziraphale's face looked like he was trying to compute what he had just been asked. “W-what?”

“I mean,” Crowley mumbled, his face heating up again. “You said you had never seen Goldfinger before and it's . . . It's a really good movie.” He knew he was rambling at that point, but he had already made it that far and he wasn't going to turn back then. “Also you already have a two month fine on it, so it would be a shame to not watch it.”

Aziraphale was staring blankly at Crowley, his lips drawn together and his eyes guarded. He didn't say a word. Crowley began to fidget, pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and twiddling his fingers in anticipation of Aziraphale's surefire rejection.

“That would be lovely.” Aziraphale finally said with a smile and Crowley got the feeling like when your on the top of a roller coaster about to fall and your only wish is for it to come sooner.

That was how Crowley ended up sitting on a couch with a man he had just met, eating popcorn and watching Goldeneye. It was frankly ridiculous. However, if the powers that be had decided that Crowley was going to get the chance to watch an amazing movie with a cute man who wore suspenders and had a thing for books, Crowley wasn't going to complain.

The movie amazing and although Aziraphale did interrupt sometimes to ask a question, Crowley couldn't bring himself to care.

Once the movie was done, they were both sitting on the couch watching as the credits scrolled by the screen. Crowley honestly had no idea what to do at that point. He was considering asking for Aziraphale's number or possibly running out the front door, when the other man cleared his throat.

“Um, I had a very nice time watching the movie with you.” Aziraphale mumbled, making a point not to look directly at Crowley. “Although there was quite a bit of violence, I did enjoy myself and I was wondering . . .” Turning towards Crowley, Aziraphale's eyes finally met his own. “ I wanted to know if you would like to go out some time?”

It was Crowley's turn to look dumbstruck. “Wait, what?” He had to make sure that Aziraphale wasn't asking if he would like to go out to a bar as friends of something. 

“Would you like to go on a date . . . With me?” Aziraphale asked shakily. It looked as if someone had poured tomato sauce down Aziraphale's face. His ears were bright red and Crowley wasn't sure if the blood was ever going to recede from the other man's cheeks.

Crowley tried to find the right thing to say, but all words besides 'um, ah, err and ngk' seemed to have disappeared from his vocabulary. “Well-” Crowley finally managed to sputter out. “I'm not . . . Well I'm not-”

“Oh.” Aziraphale said quietly. That one tiny sound combined together the disappointment of every child who found out their parent wasn't coming to their recital and the resignation of someone who was defeated. It was sad and small and Crowley had absolutely no idea what he had done to make such a sound pass Aziraphale's lips. “I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.” Aziraphale said with a small smile. “I assumed you were . . .” He paused and tugged down at his shirt. He wasn't looking at Crowley again. “Well I assumed you liked men, too . . .” The last part was so quiet, Crowley barely heard it. “And I'm sorry-”

It was then that Crowley realized what his mumbling must have sounded like. “What?! No!” Crowley interrupted. “No, no. I was going to say I'm not doing anything Saturday if you're free.” 

“Ohh.” Aziraphale said, far less sad and far less small than last time. If it was even possible, Aziraphale's cheeks were turning even redder than before. “So . . .” He trailed off. “Do you like sushi?” 

Crowley smiled. “Sushi's great.” The conversation then lapsed into silence, neither knowing what to say next but both wondering if the other's heart was beating as hard as their own. 

“Well, I have to go but,” Crowley finally said, reaching for a pen sitting on the table. “Here's my number.”

Later, walking out of Aziraphale's flat with the promise that the other man would call him and the prospect of a date on Saturday, Crowley decided that he was most definitely being rewarded.

**Author's Note:**

> So as you can see, this was not supposed to be a serious story. This was just something I whipped up really quickly to get me out of my writers block. I'll most definitely add on more chapters later cause it's nice not to do a serious story once in a while. Speaking of which, if you're following me for my other story, I will be updating that one soon. Oh and if you've never read the New Year's resolutions for Crowley and Aziraphale that were released a few years ago, I recommend looking those up cause not only are they hilarious, but I reference them a few times in the story. So anyways, thank you for reading and I hoped you enjoyed this weird little story.


End file.
